


Comfort

by DracoPendragon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Almost Kiss, Angst, Christmas Eve, Comfort, Dancing, Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, First Kiss, Greg's divorced, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mistletoe, Post-The Reichenbach Fall, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:27:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1304872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoPendragon/pseuds/DracoPendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock's Fall, Lestrade turns to Mycroft, who comforts him (in his own way) and helps him through the motions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After the Fall

Greg Lestrade stormed into the Diogenes Club and demanded to see Mycroft Holmes at once. He was duly escorted to a room at the side, where the man he intended to see was sat behind a desk, hands pressed together as though in prayer.

‘Sherlock’s dead,’ the inspector said in the most controlled voice he could manage. ‘How could you let this happen?’

‘Sherlock knew what he was doing,’ was the reply Mycroft gave him.

‘You stood by and let him commit suicide, Mycroft! He’s your brother, for god’s sake!’

‘Gregory, I understand your emotions are running high what with your divorce and all, but-’

‘How could you possibly know about that?’ Greg shouted before placing his head in his hands despairingly. Rage built up inside of him, and he lashed out mindlessly, scattering the neatly stacked piled on the desk in front of him. He wasn’t stopped, and he continued to let out all his hurt and anger until eventually, he was drained of energy and sank to the floor on his knees, tears falling from his eyes.

‘There, there,’ Mycroft said awkwardly as he moved to pat the detective inspector’s shoulder stiffly.

‘How could you do that? You must have known how dangerous Moriarty was, and you still let your brother, your _family,_ Mycroft, up there with him,’ Greg said shakily.

The room went silent for a while, neither of them saying anything.

‘I do not know,’ Mycroft said finally.

Lestrade looked around at the paper scattered about the room, and was hit with a pang of guilt. ‘Sorry I made a mess.’

Mycroft followed his gaze. ‘It’s completely understandable,’ he said neutrally.

‘I’ll stay and clean it.’

‘No, I shall get my people to do it,’ insisted the superior of the two. ‘I am going to take you home now.’ Upon seeing the inspector’s face, he added: ‘I insist.’

Sighing in defeat, Greg let himself be escorted outside into a long, black car.

‘You know she’s kicked me out,’ he said shortly, breaking the silence that had built up as they drove along.

‘I do,’ replied Mycroft. ‘That’s why you shall come to mine.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive.’

That effectively halted the conversation, and the rest of the car journey passed in a companionable silence.

Eventually, the car pulled up in front of a grand house, and Mycroft gestured for him to step outside. Greg did so, letting the cool evening air hit his face. He breathed in deep, before following Mycroft to the door. The other man opened it and let them both inside, before escorting Greg to a room where he could stay the night.

‘Thank you,’ said the inspector as he noted that Mycroft was about to leave.

‘It was the least I could do for Sherlock’s friend,’ smiled Mycroft politely. ‘Goodnight, Gregory.’

‘Call me Greg,’ insisted the other man as he began stripping away his outermost layers of clothing.

‘Goodnight then, Greg,’ amended the elder Holmes brother before he stepped out of the room.

Lestrade finished undressing and then got a drink from the en-suite, before settling underneath the covers on the bed. He lay awake for an indeterminable amount of time before he fell asleep.


	2. One Year Later

Greg was standing at his friend’s grave, rain falling gently around him. It had been a year since Sherlock had died, and the detective’s death had managed to motivate the inspector viciously, and he was more determined than ever to get the criminals of London behind bars.

The raindrops ceased landing on him, and he looked up to discover that he was being sheltered underneath a familiar umbrella. He then turned his head to look at the man beside him. ‘Hey, Mike.’

‘Hello, Greg,’ Mycroft acknowledged, eyes never leaving the headstone.

‘Can't believe it’s been over a year,’ said Greg quietly.

‘No,’ agreed the other man. He turned, unexpectedly, to look at the inspector. ‘How have you been?’

‘Oh, don’t act like you don’t know, Mike.’

‘Mycroft,’ he sighed. ‘My name is Mycroft. And you know, solving crimes isn’t going to bring him back.’

‘That’s not why I do it.’

‘I know. You do it because you feel as though his death is secretly your fault, and this is your way of repenting. I’m telling you, Greg, it is not. His death had nothing to do with you, Moriarty played us all.’

‘But I still pushed him away, Mycroft,’ insisted Lestrade.

‘You humans, always so desperate to pin the blame on yourselves and wallow in self-pity,’ sighed Mycroft. ‘You know, if you’re low on living space, I suppose you could always come and share with me.’

‘I’m fine, thanks,’ replied Greg. He was living alone in a one-bedroom apartment not too far away from the church he was standing outside currently. It wasn’t ideal, but he made it work.

‘Are you happy there?’

‘Yeah, I am. Would you like to come round for a cuppa?’

Mycroft pulled back his sleeve so he could glance at his watch. ‘I suppose I have time for one quick drink, yes.’

‘Excellent. It’s only a short walk away,’ began Greg as he moved away from the grave and began manoeuvring his way out. Mycroft followed him, umbrella still aloft to shield them from the downpour.

The silences in which the pair was always inevitably caught during their encounters were never awkward. They always held a sense of companionship and mutual respect. It was not unenjoyable.

‘Here we are,’ Greg said finally as they stopped outside his house. ‘You can bring your brolly in if you want,’ he added casually as he unlocked the door and opened it, gesturing for his companion to go in ahead of him.

Mycroft walked purposefully up the stairs, and Greg didn’t stop to wonder how he knew which floor he had to go to. He unlocked the door to his own apartment when he reached it, and again let Mycroft go before him.

‘What would you like in your tea? Sugar, milk?’ he asked as he headed to the kitchen unit and replaced the water in the kettle.

‘Milk, two sugars, if you don’t mind,’ replied Mycroft as he looked around. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather come and live with me? I can have a room set up for you, your own key, everything you ever needed.’

‘Mike, I’m fine,’ replied Greg as he made the tea. As nice as it would be, he didn’t want to be pitied by Mycroft. He finished making the drinks and moved carefully through to the other room where Mycroft was, offering him the drink. ‘I appreciate the help, but I’m happy here.’

‘And you still haven’t got a new partner?’

‘I’m over Jeanette, yes,’ said Greg firmly. ‘And I don’t have anyone else.’

Mycroft sipped at his tea complacently, still looking around. ‘As long as you’re happy.’

‘I am, Mycroft. Thank you for caring, though.’

‘It’s not a problem,’ he was assured as his friend finished his tea and set down the cup. ‘I should get going, I have some things to do at the office.’

‘Well, can't they wait a little longer? I haven’t seen you in a while,’ pointed out the inspector.

Looking conflicted as he thought about it, Mycroft eventually turned to face Greg’s pout. ‘I suppose I could finish the papers tomorrow,’ he reasoned.

Greg felt himself smile as he gestured to the couch, and he and Mycroft sat down together to talk for the rest of the evening. Mycroft ended up staying the night, and had to sleep on the couch since there wasn't enough space anywhere else, and was gone before the inspector woke up. He didn't mind though; it had been happening over the course of the past year, both men finding themselves turning to the other whenever anything happened that was beyond their control. That was the routine they had fallen into, and neither of them minded.


	3. The Return

Greg rushed into the Diogenes club as he had done two years previously, this time in a noticeably different mood. He went right on in to Mycroft’s room, having been acknowledged by Anthea (which wasn’t her actual name, Greg had discovered).

‘Mycroft, Sherlock’s back,’ he announced as soon as he saw the other man sat at his desk, looking through a large stack of papers in the light of a desk lamp.

At his outburst, Mycroft did nothing more than pick up another document to glance through it. Greg frowned. ‘Mike, didn’t you hear me? Sherlock, he's not dead.’

‘My name is Mycroft,’ sighed the other man before looking up finally from his papers. ‘And I heard you just fine. My brother is back from the dead, just like Lazarus.’

‘Well, aren’t you even a little bit glad that he’s _alive_?’ Greg stopped for a second, mind calculating a reason for the way the elder Holmes brother was acting. ‘Unless… unless you knew all along that he didn’t actually die on that rooftop.’

The look on Mycroft’s face was carefully controlled, but he wasn’t looking Lestrade in the eye.

‘You knew he was alive and didn’t tell me? You lied to me for two whole years!’

‘Greg, I assure you, I would have told you if I could have-’

‘You had ample opportunity to tell me, so why didn’t you?’

‘Sherlock said I couldn’t tell anyone,’ explained Mycroft calmly.

‘Did anyone else know he wasn’t dead?’

When Mycroft obviously faltered, Greg continued, dangerously calm. ‘Who else?’

‘Greg-’

‘Who else?’ persisted the inspector, vocal volume rising as the feeling of betrayal inside him built up.

‘Sherlock and I, alongside our parents, Molly Hooper and a few selected members of Sherlock’s homeless gang,’ relented the other man.

‘So you didn’t tell John, and you didn’t tell me. You didn’t tell any of the people Moriarty’s men targeted; any of the people Sherlock considered as friends. Not even Mrs Hudson.’

‘We couldn’t risk anyone who had been in league with Moriarty finding out.’

‘You kept us all in the dark for two bloody years, Mycroft!’

‘I’m sorry,’ replied Mycroft quietly.

‘Save it,’ snarled Greg. He stopped to think. ‘Everything that’s happened between us these past two years…’ he began quietly, turning to face Mycroft. ‘Was any of it true?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Did you actually ever even care about me, or was it all just some game to you? You could easily have dropped me and gone on with your business. Why did you help me?’

‘You were hurting. I felt the need to aid you. It wasn’t a game, Greg. I’ve grown, over these past few years, quite…fond of you. I apologise for not telling you about my brother, but he could not be uncovered before he had dealt with Moriarty’s remnants completely.’

‘How can I ever trust you again, Mike?’ asked the detective inspector in despair.

‘I do not know,’ admitted Mycroft gently.

Greg walked calmly to the door, trying to get a grip on his emotions as he moved further away from his companion. He heard his name being called, and a plea for him to come back, but ignored it. He walked out of the Diogenes club and went straight home, where he made himself a cup of tea and called in sick before going straight to bed in a sullen mood.


	4. The Wedding

’Mycroft, are you sure you can’t come to the wedding?’ Greg said into his phone. He’d been trying, vainly, to persuade the elder Holmes brother to join him at John and Mary’s wedding for about half an hour.

‘I’m afraid I’m busy,’ insisted Mycroft from the other end of the phone.

‘But it’ll be fun! We could dance, if you want.’

‘Greg, this is becoming foolish. I’m already engaged for that evening. I’m sorry.’

‘Alright. Okay,’ said the detective inspector quietly. ‘Well I hope you have a good time doing whatever it is you’ll be doing.’

‘I doubt it,’ Mycroft scoffed. ‘I really am sorry.’

‘Yeah, Mike. I got it.’

A sigh came from the other end of the handset. ‘I’ll see if I can cut the meeting short.’

‘Thank you,’ Greg smiled. ‘I’ll save you a dance.’

‘See you later, perhaps,’ said Mycroft.

‘Bye.’ Greg hung up the phone and put it back into his pocket. Then, he walked into the church where the rest of the wedding guests were getting seated and found his seat.

* * *

‘Sherlock’s speech was very emotional. And we also caught a killer. You missed a good day,’ Greg said into his phone. The party had died down a little, and some of the guests were starting to leave. Mycroft still hadn’t turned up, but Greg took it as a good sign that the other man had answered his phone.

‘I’m sure it was highly fascinating,’ Mycroft said politely.

‘You don’t mean that, do you?’

‘I’ve more important things to concern myself with than my brother’s best friend’s wedding.’

‘If you insist,’ Greg said as he grabbed another champagne flute from a passing waiter. He took a sip before continuing. ‘You coming here or not?’

‘There’s a black car waiting for you outside.’

‘I’ll take that as a no,’ Greg answered his own question before he drank down the rest of the alcohol in his glass and set it down.

Then, he moved to say his goodbyes to the married couple and Molly before heading to the car outside. He got in, and the chauffeur drove him silently to Mycroft’s house.

* * *

‘Hello, Greg,’ smiled the house’s owner as he met Greg at the door and invited him in.

‘Mycroft, hi,’ Lestrade replied, matching his smile.

‘I didn’t want to be the spectre at a feast, so I thought I’d invite you here instead,’ explained the Holmes brother as they walked into the living room.

‘Yeah, I get you.’ Greg walked into the middle of the room and held out his arms. At Mycroft’s look of confusion, he added: ‘I said I’d save you a dance.’

‘That’s true,’ said Mycroft as he moved closer to the other man. They pressed two of their hands together, and Mycroft’s other one went to Greg’s hip while Greg’s moved to his partner’s shoulder. They began to move in small steps, Mycroft leading, and as they both got more comfortable, their movements became more fluid and free.

By the time they both had to stop to catch their breath, Greg was unable to stop smiling. He moved to wrap both of his arms gently around the taller man’s neck, pushing their bodies even closer so that there was barely anything between them except the clothes they were wearing.

‘That was fun,’ he said breathlessly, subconsciously angling his head higher.

‘It was, I have to admit, quite enjoyable,’ Mycroft agreed, hands resting gently on the detective’s waist.

Greg had moved so that their lips were almost touching. All Mycroft had to do was lean forward just the slightest bit and they’d be kissing. For a second, it looked as though that was what the other man was going to do, but then Mycroft moved his hands from Greg’s hips and took a step back.

‘You’re drunk.’

‘I’m not, I promise.’ He had only had one beer and two glasses of champagne, he was exactly under alcohol’s influence too much.

‘You should go to sleep, Greg. I’ve had your room made up.’

‘Can I not sleep with you instead?’ Whoops. Slip of the tongue. Maybe he was more intoxicated than he thought.

‘I have to be up ridiculously early tomorrow, so I’m afraid not,’ said Mycroft calmly.

‘Okay then,’ nodded Greg. ‘Night, Mike.’ He moved to go up to his usual room.

‘Goodnight, Greg.’


	5. Christmas Eve

For Christmas Eve, everyone gathered round at 221B for a party. Greg looked around at the gathered about halfway through; John and Mary were still in the honeymoon stage of their relationship, Mary holding a glass of apple juice and John’s arm protectively at her waist; Molly Hooper, dressed up in a sparkly strappy dress that complemented her figure; Mrs Hudson, who had already drunk way too much mulled wine, which caused her to sway slightly on the spot; Sherlock, who was sat in his seat, typing away at his phone; and his brother Mycroft, who was standing at the side of the room, desperately trying to avoid any human contact. The two of them made eye contact, and Mycroft smiled before looking away again.

Sherlock had risen from his seat and walked over to Greg. ‘What’s going on between you and my brother?’ he asked bluntly.

‘What do you mean?’ Greg asked, taking a sip from his glass as he turned to look at the consulting detective.

‘There’s something going on between you and my brother,’ Sherlock said. ‘He only showed some interest in coming after he found out you’d be here, and now that you are, he’s eyeing you up more than the cakes. What’s going on?’

‘I think you’d be better of asking him, to be honest,’ Lestrade replied.

Sherlock waved away the suggestion. ‘He won't talk to me. Just because he’s here, doesn’t mean he wants to be.’

‘Who doesn’t want to be here?’ came a familiar voice from beside Greg. He turned around to see Mycroft looking at him, standing straight and uncomfortable.

‘You, obviously,’ replied Sherlock as he looked up towards the ceiling. He grinned, and Greg began to worry. ‘However, I’m sure you’ll be greatly cheered up if you look directly above you.’

Both the elder Holmes brother and Lestrade turned their heads to look up at the ceiling. Mistletoe was dangling above them, white berries dotting the bright, forest green leaves.

‘You planned this, didn’t you?’ Greg asked, looking towards his friend, who was smirking.

‘I can neither confirm nor deny, inspector-’

‘That’s definitely a yes then,’ Mycroft stepped in.

Greg looked up again and turned to face Mycroft. ‘What’s one kiss, right?’ he asked, chuckling nervously.

Both of the Holmes brothers gave Lestrade funny looks. He was going to ask what they were looking at, but was stopped short when Mycroft placed a palm on the side of his face and gently directed it so that their lips were pressed together.

The briefest taste of Mycroft’s lips was all Greg got before the kiss was broken again. Mycroft looked as professional as ever, and everyone else in the room was looking at them in interest. The elder Holmes brother excused himself politely and walked away from a stunned Greg.

The detective inspector turned to Sherlock. ‘I should go and talk to him.’

‘Yes, I think you should,’ Sherlock said.

‘See you later,’ Greg continued as he followed Mycroft out of the door, grabbing his jacket and pulling it on as he made his way down the stairs.

He caught Mycroft just as the other man was walking down the street.

‘Mycroft!’

Mycroft turned around at the sound of his name. ‘What do you want?’

‘Why did you leave? Did you not want to kiss me?’

Mycroft rolled his eyes. ‘I have nothing against kissing you, Greg. In fact, it’s quite the opposite-’

‘Really?’ Greg asked, looking shocked.

‘Well don’t act so shocked.’

‘You wouldn’t do it that time after the wedding.’

‘You were drunk,’ Mycroft explained calmly. ‘I’d have felt as though I was taking advantage of you.’

‘Oh right.’ Greg looked up into Mycroft’s eyes. ‘So you really don’t mind kissing me?’

‘No, why would I?’

‘I dunno,’ shrugged Lestrade.

Mycroft placed his hand on Greg’s cheek again. It was cold, and made the shorter of the two shiver. Greg leant in further towards Mycroft, and their lips met again.

They continued to kiss, standing in the middle of the street as snowflakes fell around them, landing in their hair and on their clothing.

Eventually, they pulled apart, but stayed huddled together against the cold air.

‘Come back inside?’ Lestrade asked.

Mycroft looked at him and nodded. They walked back together, side by side. Everyone started at them as they walked back in, and Sherlock gave Lestrade an odd look. Greg nodded shortly in reply and  no one mentioned what had happened for the rest of the evening.


	6. New Year's Eve

Greg and Mycroft sat together on their sofa in the latter’s house, both of them ignoring the television’s quiet babble as they talked. Sherlock had invited them round to Baker Street for New Year’s Eve, but they’d declined graciously, preferring to spend the time together.

Greg had moved in shortly after Christmas, upon Mycroft’s asking. He still kept his little flat, in case things went wrong, but that seemed unlikely, even though it was early on in their relationship. Not much had changed upon them making it official; they still saw each other frequently and went about work. The only thing that had really changed was how at ease they were with each other, alongside the intimacy.

‘What are you going to do then?’ Greg asked Mycroft. His partner knew what he was talking about; everyone had seen Moriarty’s message, spread out across every screen in London.

‘I don’t know,’ replied the other man wearily. It was the first time the detective inspector had seen him truly at a loss of knowledge on what to do.

‘Sherlock will sort it out, I’m sure. That’s why you brought him back, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft admitted. ‘He wouldn’t have survived anyway if I hadn’t.’

‘I’m sure it’ll all work out,’ Greg said.

Mycroft turned to look at him. ‘I hope it does.’

‘Same.’ Lestrade took his glass of wine from off the table in front of the sofa, and Mycroft mimicked him.

‘A toast,’ Greg said. ‘To a new year, hopefully less chaotic than before. Although I doubt that’ll be the case. And to us.’

He turned to look at Mycroft, who was holding his wine glass up. ‘To us.’

They knocked their glasses together gently, and both took small drinks before setting them back down.

Lestrade moved so he was leaning against Mycroft as they watched the countdown to New Year on the television. Mycroft wrapped his arm around his partner and pulled him closer a the countdown issued on the TV.

’5, 4, 3, 2, 1! Happy New Year!’ the people on the screen shouted as Mycroft pulled Greg in for a kiss.

The screeching of several dozen fireworks sounded around them, and bright light streamed into the room through the curtains as the sky was illuminated with a plethora of colour, even though the curtains themselves were drawn shut.

‘Happy New Year,’ Greg whispered as he pulled back to smile at his boyfriend.

‘Happy New Year too,’ Mycroft replied.

Greg looked around the room. ‘Shall we go to bed?’

Mycroft nodded. ‘Yes, why not?’

Greg turned off the TV while Mycroft put away the wine glasses, and together they headed up to their shared bedroom, where they stayed lying in bed beside each other as fireworks sounded in the sky outside. They both eventually fell asleep, hands entwined.


End file.
